


Hall Of The King

by orphan_account



Series: The King and his Prince [6]
Category: Basketball RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Overstimulation, Pining, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After the Cavs beat the Warriors on Christmas day, LeBron comes after Steph looking for answers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got way out of hand. I can't believe it's this long. Sorry?

Steph can’t stop his heart from racing even as he sits on the bench.

 

It’s not because of roaring Cleveland crowd, his teammates and coach screaming in his ear, or the man-on-man battle with Kyrie on the court. It’s LeBron. It’s always LeBron. He’s been running on the court at the speed of his pulse for hours. Trying to remain as calm as he can in the conditions, pushing back the surges of adrenaline and anxiety at the other’s presence, ignoring the gut-wrenching twist in his stomach of nausea.

 

 Even after he’s subbed out and sitting on the bench, with nothing happening at all, he keeps the towel over his head to sustain the weight of depression that sinks into him every time LeBron walks past him without even looking at him. It’s almost comforting that LeBron never brings it out on the court if only for the way it steadies the tremor of anticipation in his stomach.

 

He tells himself this is it; this is fine. They’re over. He’d rather be disappointed than stressed, dealing with the drama on the court in front of thousands. But LeBron comes back into eyeshot as he runs past the bench, and everything in Steph’s body goes hot like it’s full of electricity all over again. It’s been an exhausting day and compared to some of his memories with LeBron, that’s saying quite a lot, especially considering he’s playing LeBron, who he hasn’t spoken to in five months, on a national holiday in front of millions on TV and god damn losing.

 

It’s not for lack of trying either. LeBron had surprisingly tried to contact him since the ESPYs, but Steph had somewhat of a mild breakdown after admitting to himself he was in love with the MVP. So when LeBron started texting him out of the blue, he completely ignored it. It was simple texts at first like commenting on the NBA headlines or asking him about whether he saw so and so play last night. But after Steph ignored him for at least a month, the taunting started. At one point, it went beyond trash talking to something that made Steph sick to his stomach. Yet, even now, he still feels guilty about ignoring it.

 

He finally retreats to his hotel after the game is over. It feels better to be alone than with his family like he’s putting up a wall between himself and the world. It’s nice to be able to look his reflection in the eye and stare in anger until the visible strain in his jaw and his shoulders eases into calm. He splashes water on his face, rinses the taste of too much Gatorade out of his mouth, and cups more water in his palms. It’s soothing as he pulls the clammy catch of sweat away from his skin along with the heat of his flesh, and by the time he’s drying his face off, Steph feels something like human again.

 

When he opens the door, LeBron is waiting for him.

 

Steph freezes. This can’t be real. For a moment, he would swear even his heart stops, feels like his entire body locks itself into immobility despite the excess adrenaline. There’s very brief moment of silence, enough time for his head to offer, ”You’re fucked,” very faintly into his thoughts. Then his heart thuds so loud he swears LeBron can hear it, all his blood simultaneously drains from his face and burns crimson in his cheeks.  It’s only the locking of his knees that keeps Steph from collapsing to the floor right there from exhaustion and surprise.

 

LeBron smiles. He has the audacity to smile after the things said – well, texted. The curve of his lips catches the corners of his eyes, drawing them into shadows. Steph can feel his breathing stutter in his chest and his blood boil. “Steph,” A purr, music on LeBron’s tongue and in Steph's ears. He unfolds his arms from his chest, straightens from the elegant lean he has at the wall in the hotel room. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

 

“LeBron,” Steph says in an unrecognizable voice, the words sounding so strange through the rushing in his ears.

 

“Steph,” LeBron repeats, rolling the name over on his tongue until Steph almost doesn’t hear the danger under it, almost misses the shadows that cling to the corners of the harsh eff noise. LeBron takes a step forward after, and Steph’s fingers tighten on the door handle. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

 

Right to the chase, but LeBron still stuns him. “What?” Steph offers weakly because it’s taking him a moment to process basic linguistics with how hard his heart is pounding and the gaining disbelief: “What?”

 

“Did we beat you so bad you’re deaf? You’re avoiding me,” LeBron declares, angier this time. He stops moving, pauses in the middle of the room; one hip is tipped out to the side in casual basketball shorts. Even the simple act of standing still seems graceful by his framing. “Your phone fucking broke?”

 

“What,” Steph repeats like an idiot. His adrenaline is knotting into a weight inside his ribcage, the support of his temper rising along the tremor of his spine. It’s better to maintain anger, he tells himself. He steadies his knees and braces his shoulders. When he frowns, he feels like he’s nearly himself again. “I’ve—we’ve been playin’ ball, LeBron, I’ve been busy.”

 

“Excuses is all I hear,” LeBron argues, and he’s leaning in but Steph isn’t shaking anymore. Steph glares up at him as his hands go to fists at his sides. LeBron’s still smiling despite his annoyance, his lips curved in amusement Steph suspects is at his expense. “I haven’t seen you in months, and you couldn’t you find a few minutes to text back, bitch?”

 

“You never cared before,” Steph protests, anger rising at the familiar name. “Never fuckin’ texted me, man. Barely talked to me all damn summer—“

 

“I’m here now,” LeBron cuts him off. “In person, and I expect a response other than your damn stuttering.” He’s close, now. Steph’s face has fallen into shadow with LeBron leaning in towards him. “And you’ve just been staring at me from across the court.”

 

“I,” Steph starts to reply but takes a deep breath and his temper unravels, collapses like a knot cut through the middle. His hands undo the fists he’s made, shoulders tilt back, and when he hits the edge of the door, there is a brief moment of panic. He feels an instinctive need to run stalling against the resistance at his back. “I wasn’t staring. I was just watching the game.”

 

“Maybe” LeBron chuckles as his hand comes out, braces against the wall over Steph’s shoulder. Steph’s knees start to shake, and all the texts from LeBronl eft unanswered start to run through his head. “You were staring.”

 

“I was watchin’ you like everyone else on my team,” Steph manages, his voice breaking to pieces. His vision blurs at the edges to frame LeBron in a hazy halo of white. “We were fucking losing, and I was trying to think of the play. Come on, man.”

 

LeBron must be done with his subject because he quickly moves on to something else ad his smile fades, staring down at Steph as he leans over him. “You don’t use your phone no more?” LeBron quizzes him. When he breathes out, Steph can feel the heat of his exhale, can feel the air brush against his forehead with the action. “Didn’t answer none of my texts. You should be fucking grateful I even texted you.” This time, there’s heat in the words.

 

“I was busy,” Steph repeats still because he really doesn’t want to answer his question, and the words wobble in his throat, grate on the flutter of his heart pounding hard against the inside of his chest. “I know I am, but you ain’t the only one in my life.”

 

Apparently, that’s what does it. The next thing Steph knows, LeBron’s palm hits Steph’s chest and pushes him against the wall with enough force to knock the air out of him, and Steph’s still gasping with shock from when LeBron’s fingers drag and tighten into a fist on his shirt. He doesn’t even know how LeBron still has the energy to exert so much power, but he certainly has none left to fight it.

 

Steph breathes out, looking up at LeBron as his heart races, vision blurring.  He isn’t sure how he’s still standing but is fairly certain it’s only the wall and LeBron’s grasp on his shirt keeping him upright. “LeBron--” Steph starts, voice reaching new heights of concern, but “Shut up,” LeBron is saying, rumbling the sound low enough Steph can feel the vibration of it purring over all his skin like a physical touch. “I thought I said you’re mine, bitch.” Steph almost flinches at the name; they’re here again. He let himself get trapped in the cage with the beast, practically threw away the key. “I mean I I know how much you love sucking cock, but I thought you could control yourself.”

 

“I wasn’t with anybody else,” He attempts to defend himself, voice skidding embarrassingly high on the sudden rush of concern that hits his veins. He has no reason to defend himself here, yet he keeps trying. Steph’s head is already spinning this close to him but it only worsens by the time he feels LeBron’s other hand grip at his short hair. He sucks in a breath with LeBron’s face now only a few inches away from his.

 

Steph’s face and neck feel like fire as the blood rushes to his face, but LeBron holds his gaze with uncomfortable intensity. “Tell me, Steph,” LeBron replies, his voice strangely aloof as he narrows his eyes, “Do you spread your legs for your entire team, or just most of ‘em?”

 

He’s not surprised when the other brings the subject up again. It seems LeBron’s possessiveness is never ending. It sends a shutter down Steph’s spine, and he looks away from his intense stare. “What the fuck you talking about?” He asks, voice so rough on the words he sounds almost angry, He gulps down ragged breaths as LeBron untangles his fingers from his hair, jerks his hand completely as though he’s been burnt.

 

“How many people you fucked since?” LeBron hisses in a tight voice, and it’s really the disdain in his eyes that makes Steph clench his jaw as he viciously holds Ren’s gaze. His expression is dangerous in its fixation, running his eyes over Steph’s face as though he can discern the answer just by looking, shoulders tight and composure uncharacteristically slipping, “How many bitches?”

 

“I’m not yours,” Steph blurts out in horrified astonishment because he’s still trying to convince himself there’s nothing between them. “It ain’t your business!” Even if there was something, he’s righteously angry, completely thrown for a loop by this incomprehensible turn of events after losing badly on Christmas damn day.

 

LeBron tensed at his words, scarred face smoothing into something very still and dangerous. He stands there, staring at Steph with such unrestrained hatred on his face, and when his hand clenches spasmodically at his side, there’s a moment when Steph genuinely feels a bit scared.

 

And then, all at once, LeBron’s entire demeanor changes. “This bitch still can’t lie,” He laughs dangerously, tilting his head to one side as he holds Steph’s gaze. The tension drains from his shoulders with chilling abruptness, face smoothing out into an almost amused expression. He always sees through him. Certainly, Steph hopes, there are some things LeBron can’t pick up on.

 

There’s a long moment of charged silence before he reaches out, very slowly and very pointedly, resting his hand along the side of Steph’s face.  He hardens himself before the touch comes, sets his jaw again and forces himself not to flinch at the familiar touch against his skin. The first time they’ve touched intentionally beyond the court since the ESPYs. It’s not as though Steph can get away, after all. LeBron is much bigger, stronger, and immobile when he gets like this. Moreover, any struggling will make him look weak.

 

The point is clearly made. LeBron is entirely in control of what happens, as always, and Steph’s only option is to deal with whatever he decides to do. “You want me,” LeBron breathes with obvious satisfaction, his eyes flickering down briefly to Steph’s lips. When he glances back up again, there’s something uncompromising and ruthless in his expression. “You missed me.”

 

“No,” Steph lies in a quiet voice, as though he’s trying to soothe a startled animal. He couldn’t possibly know his feelings. He may have a clue, sure. But he can’t let him in on the truth. Panic is swelling up in Steph’s chest but he pushes it down, doesn’t look at it right now. “You should go. Go celebrate.” His heart clenches as he forces the words out, as he lays bare the only leverage he has – reality. Still, his heart clenches as he forces the words out. LeBron just stares at him, silent and smirking. "Just forget about this shit,” Steph tries again, fighting to keep the waiver out of his voice. He licks his lips, opens his mouth to keep speaking.

 

The words are cut off as LeBron reaches out and takes his chin in his hand in a ruthlessly tight grip, and it’s not so much that Steph can’t breathe but the words just won’t come out. “What I want,” LeBron says slowly, something barely restrained in the words as he holds Steph’s gaze with frightening intensity, “is for you to get who you really belong to. Once and for all.” His eyes drift for a moment away from Steph’s eyes, trailing down to his mouth and neck.

 

“I’m going to make you regret every time you ignored my texts,” LeBron murmurs under his breath and the really alarming thing is that he doesn’t even sound angry. He sounds like he’s plotting. When LeBron’s eyes flicker up to meet Steph’s gaze again, they’re shining with something hard and uncompromising, full of conviction.

 

LeBron lets go of his face then, takes a few steps back – staring at him as Steph tries his best to keep it together. His mind is racing, running through every single ting LeBron could do. Some of which turn him on, he thinks slightly hysterically, trying to stifle the panic bubbling up in his chest with every passing minute. “I’d say every time you let someone touch you, but I know you didn’t.”

 

He presses his lips together as LeBron approaches again, forces himself not to flinch when LeBron puts a hand behind his head. He wrenches Steph’s head up and holds eye contact with him for a long moment. “You’re gonna’ behave,” LeBron commands him in a low voice, and it’s only after the words are out of his mouth that Steph feels them settle heavily in his heart. The ghost of a smile nudges at the corner of his mouth because he knows there’s no other option. “Take off your fucking clothes. I'm not in the mood for your shit.”

 

Steph’s not sure if he's serious or if it's just another stall tactic but he’s already reaching up to unbutton his shirt before the order even registers properly. He holds LeBron’s gaze daringly as he shrugs it off his shoulders, the back of his neck flushing. He’s uncomfortably aware of where they are now and what just happened on the court as he starts to undo his pants. He bites the inside of his cheek trying to keep himself silent as LeBron drinks in the sight of him greedily.

 

It’s shocking, how much Steph wants this. Before LeBron can give his next command, Steph drops down onto the floor completely naked on one knee and places a hand in front of his dick, which is already half hard since the moment LeBron pushed him against the wall. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he averts his gaze from other, who quickly takes him by surprise and roughly grabs his arm in a tight grasp, tugging at him to get up.

 

 

“Not tonight, bitch. I know how much you love sucking my cock, but I'm gonna’ use your ass instead. I dunno’ where your mouth has been.” LeBron’s laugh is so sudden, so loud and unexpected; it makes Steph jump in his grasp, startles all the tight-wound adrenaline in him into a jolt. The real danger comes after as he glances up to meet the other’s eyes, eager yet cold and calculated. 

 

“Get ready,” LeBron purrs at him, smile growing. “I’m gonna’ mess you up.” The promise chilled him down to his bones, yet there’s a hot slick of shame in Steph’s veins as feels himself be pulled up by the stronger man, the unpleasant awareness that he’s willing, no, yearning for it. No matter how many texts he ignored, the time he spent bristling, or games he lost since he still longed for the other.

 

LeBron quickly pulls him up with a sharp tug on his arm, he keeps his chin up towards the ceiling, angling his face so the light catches his features. His gaze is the sharper for the angle at which he’s looking down at Steph and tells him to “Get up, bitch,” with something uncannily close to hesitancy.

 

He draws his hand away, removing the heat of his touch from Steph’s skin just as Steph starts to gather himself, standing awkwardly and completely naked. Reaching down, he places his hands in front of himself to try and retain any sense of dignity he has left. The sweat drips down his back as the room fills with tension, and his entire skin shudders with electricity in anticipation of LeBron’s next movement or edge of word.

 

“What now,” Steph blurts, anxiety peaking, free hand clenching into a fist at his side as LeBron to stare at him with a dark expression. “You’re just gonna’--”

 

He should have expected the shove, but what he doesn’t expect is LeBron’s quick change of position, coming to stand behind him. It’s almost as if they’re back on the court in that moment, and Steph’s eyes widen in surprise, glancing over his shoulder.

 

It comes quick, against his upper back, where he can’t see over his shoulder. But still, he should have expected, should’ve known the other was so unpredictable, yet he’s so caught off-guard that LeBron’s push knocks the air out of his lungs in shock as he falls into the bed face forward.

 

The bed creaks, the springs voicing a protest to this abuse, and the sharp of his tooth catches and tears his lip open. But LeBron pressing his knee into the bed to carry his weight and his hand carefully on the back of Steph’s head, hissing at him to “Lie there and be good.”

 

As Steph’s mouth fills with the taste of his own blood, he completely freezes and tenses up, veins flooding with adrenaline in fear. It’s only a few seconds later that LeBron lifts his hand from the back of his head, and Steph takes a much needed inhale, finally able to look up from the white sheets.

 

But Steph holds his breath only seconds after as the man beside him quickly lifts his leg up and over Steph to push into the bed beside him, followed by the other until he’s straddling him. LeBron leans over him with the burden of his hand bearing down on Steph’s shoulder blades and the angle of his legs spread wide to straddle Steph’s hips as flush to the bed as his chest. Despite the other still completely clothed in basketball shorts and a black t-shirt, it’s completely intimate.

 

LeBron silently shifts his knees against the bed to remove some weight, which draws Steph’s attention to the dark inside of LeBron’s thigh as the glow of the ambient lighting of the hotel room illuminates the smooth of his skin. It’s strange to see LeBron’s legs angled so wide, even if he can’t see them completely. Usually, it’s Steph in his place, with his legs hooked around LeBron’s waist and his heels pressed to the dip of the other’s back, drawing him closer.

 

“Say you want it,” LeBron breaks into his thoughts, and it’s with command in his voice that adds fire in Steph’s veins. “Say you want me to fuck you. Tell me how much you want it.”

 

“What?” Steph pulls his lower lip up into his mouth to stop the bleeding and looks back over his shoulder to see LeBron raise an eyebrow, mouth curving in amusement. He can feel himself starting to blush, can feel the color spreading out across his cheekbones to give away the trajectory of his thoughts. “Come on, man. Don’t be like that.”

 

LeBron sighs. His fingers tense against Steph’s shoulders, bracing hard against the other’s bare skin as if he can transfer his thoughts to the other directly through physical contact. “Why don't you just admit you love taking it up the ass? That’s why you didn’t text me. You embarrassed.”

 

“Fuck you,” Step snap back angrily, and he’s still blushing but at least he’s fighting back, even if he’s currently pinned down. LeBron watches him, dark brown eyes sharp and narrow. Steph can see the set of his mouth, can see the focus dim behind the other’s gaze.

 

“I will if you beg, bitch,” LeBron chuckles, completely unfazed as he tips his chin down, flutters his eyelashes with deliberate slowness, but Steph remains just as unfazed. “Fuck you,” He repeats, but his voice dies sharply at the end, indicating more uncertainty in the statement that he wishes he could offer.

 

“Fucking liar,” The older male retorts as he shifts his weight, rocking himself forward over Steph more. His hand weights hard against the other’s shoulders to pin him closer to the bed, and Steph has to turn his head back to stare forward, chin dropping down onto the bed. “You wanna’ get fucked, get used, and pushed around like a worthless piece of shit.”

 

“Fuck you,” It’s all Steph can manage, sounding weak and shaky, without back at him. “If you really think that, why you just sittin’ on me?”He spits with all the venom and courage he can muster, the words reverberating against the inside of his chest as much as they echo off the walls of the hotel room. “If you’re gonna’ ‘mess me up,’ shouldn’t I at least notice you’re doin’ it?”

 

“Shut up,” LeBron orders him, retreating back to the commanding force that always makes Steph’s spine tingle with heat wholly separate from his anticipation of the myriad of things the other might do to him. He’s shifting, lifting his hand from Steph’s shoulders as he rocks his weight back over his hips. With the loss of the weight, Steph is free to push himself up on his elbows, and does so without hesitation, can look back to watch as LeBron tugs his shirt free of his pants and strips it up over his head.

 

Steph lets his gaze linger against the sweat-damp of the other’s skin, drags appreciation in the wake of his stare while LeBron pulls his clothes off. Steph doesn’t look away when LeBron shakes his head free of the fabric, lets his gaze wander up the smooth line of LeBron’s chest to meet his gaze as he twists the shirt in his hands around on itself. “Like what you see?” LeBron chuckles and the laugh is softer than his voice from before. It causes Steph takes a deliberate inhale, the sound of it raw enough that LeBron can hear it dragging in his chest.

 

 “Fuck you,” Steph tells him without a hint of hesitation, looking away from him toward the closest wall, blood rushing to his cheeks to frame his face with red. “ LeBron gives him a flat look that says he’s not going to comment on Steph’s gawking and leans forward to reach and grab Steph’s hair in his fingers.

 

“Quiet, slut,” He orders, placing the fabric of his twisted-up shirt onto Steph’s lips, staring down at him intently. Steph parts his lips to object but LeBron pushes it still until Steph catches the cloth between his teeth and bites down against the weight of it. Steph makes a broken noise, like a shattered-open word gone incoherent, but he doesn’t comment and he open his mouth. “Don’t or I’ll blindfold you too.” This is dangerous territory

 

The fabric is warm from LeBron’s skin and catches faint salt against his tongue, but he barely has time to contemplate further before LeBron’s hold at his hair is urging him to lie back down. “Good boy,” LeBron praises him, and Steph makes a strange noise, something faint and whimpering against the shove of LeBron’s hands but not protest.

 

I’m fucked, Steph says, or would say if he able to manage his speech into coherency. As it is, he groans the sound into the muffle of the shirt in his mouth, the weight of the barrier enough to stifle the taunting edges of his words into a moan more sensual than it is anything else.

 

LeBron lets go and retreats away now, walking toward the suitcase Steph left on the floor only hours before. The quick change of LeBron’s intentions is enough for Steph to tense irritation across his forehead and reconsider not taking the gag out and storming out. Enough to start to turn over and fix LeBron with a glare.

 

 His gaze traces across the sleek shine of damp clinging to the other’s skin, his attention wandering down to the curve of LeBron’s ass and out to the weight of the shorts still clinging to his hips as he. By the time he turns back around, all Steph’s anger has dissolved into heat instead. He suspects if someone were to touch his hands, they’d find them to be trembling telltale motion for the heat lingering in his veins.

 

He looks up at LeBron as the other steps back in closer, knowing his stare has gone sultry on the heat in his veins and the sudden memory of jerking off to LeBron’s picture flashes in his mind. LeBron barely glances at him before Steph looks away with only the faintest hint of color rising to his cheeks.

 

“Turn over,” is all LeBron says, his voice cool and collected, and Steph can see the bottle in the other’s hand so he obeys with more alacrity than he otherwise would have shown as he twists against the sheets to sprawl across his stomach instead. He angles one arm under him, pillows his head against the support of his forearm so he can watch LeBron and the other across his lower stomach in an attempt to hide his increasing arousal. But LeBron isn’t looking at his face anymore despite the flush of heat in his cheeks increasing.

 

He thinks he might hear LeBron take an inhale as he stalks forward, thinks that might be the suggestion of a crack in the other’s calm. LeBron’s hand comes out once he’s close enough, his fingertips gently pressure at Steph’s hip, and Steph’s body resonates with the contact before the sigh of appreciation has made it up his throat, the warm pleasure of the other’s touch enough to persuade him to another few heartbeats of calm.

 

There’s a slick sound over his shoulder, the wet catch of LeBron’s fingers pressing against each other, and then the weight Steph was waiting for and the drag of LeBron’s shorts over his bare skin as the other moves to straddle one of his legs before sitting back to balance over his heels.

 

 His touch at Steph’s hip is gentle again, contradictory to his words, but he doesn’t pull away this time. LeBron lets his palm slide across Steph’s skin, his thumb sliding out to press alongside the other’s spine as his fingers curl around the curve of Steph’s waist down to the angle of his hip. Steph’s shaking, he realizes distantly, his hands are trembling, and he whines embarrassingly at the touch, eyes closing from the stimulation.

 

“Relax,” LeBron purrs, still calm, almost chuckling. It’s as if he finds it humorous that Steph is breathing dizzy-hard against the gag in expectation of LeBron’s skin slick and wet against his. Steph’s fully hard, now, can feel the rush of anticipation surging up his spine with every shift of LeBron’s weight as he settles himself. Steph wants to look back, wants to see LeBron reaching for him, but the angle is too steep for him to make out any details even if he tried. But he’s sure the motion would give away more than he wants.

 

LeBron’s fingers are wet with promise, Steph’s cock is hard with want, and right now he doesn’t want to compromise this even for the satisfaction of irritating a spark into LeBron’s eyes. He stays still, warm and trembling with anticipation against the bed, and his reward comes fast. LeBron’s fingers descending against his skin, tracing out a path from the base of his spine down the curve of his ass to the tight ache at his entrance.

 

Steph groans against the gag, his skin flickering into electric heat at LeBron’s touch, and LeBron doesn’t hesitate. Steph’s throat is tense when the other’s touch slides forward and into him, but eyes go wide, fingers tense against the sheet in the first shock of heat. LeBron’s hand tightens against his hip as the other’s pushes farther into him in a single slick drag.

 

He’s still not sure what LeBron’s planning. He’s drawing back before Steph’s first wave of shock has yet faded, pushing back in while Steph is still shuddering heat against the floor from his first thrust. There’s enough force on the other’s actions to let him push deeper than he usually manages this quickly, to flare sparks of heat up Steph’s spine before he’s ready.

 

“You filthy bitch,” LeBron growls again, a reminder for Steph, as calmly as if Steph isn’t mewling heat against the gag in his mouth and arching against the bed under the force of the other’s touch. He shifts his hand at Steph’s hip, sliding his grip down by a few inches to hold the other steady against the bed. When he thrusts in again, Steph’s jerk of reaction is stilled by the weight of the other’s hold against him. “Fucking begging for it.”

 

You told me to, is the obvious reply, if Steph had the attention or coherency to offer it. But he can barely register the thought in his head before LeBron’s finger slides as far into him as the other can reach.

 

Steph’s his vision flares to white with the burst of pressure inside him, and his legs tense, his spine arches against the bed. LeBron makes a sound behind him as satisfied as it is contemplative before he draws back again by a half-inch, thrusts in hard again, and Steph can feel the surge of answering heat rush to his cock, and Steph can feel the surge of answering heat rush to his cock.

 

He can feel the spike of tension in his stomach as he chokes and groans for air against the shirt still braced between his teeth. The deliberate tilt of his head is lost; the shadowed-over angle of his lashes has vanished. He’s panting for air, hissing breath through his nose and struggling for oxygen against the overheated barrier of the fabric at his mouth.

 

LeBron quickly draws back enough to work another finger inside him, and Steph moans helplessly against the gag, his whole body shuddering in involuntary reaction as the other stretches him open around the width of two fingers.

 

“You dumb fucking slut,” LeBron whispers, softly enough that Steph is fairly sure he’s talking to himself without expecting the coherency of an articulate answer from the other. “You’re so fucking tight there’s no way your tight ass took anybody else.”

 

“Of course I was,” Steph still wouldn’t say it even if his mouth was clear. But he can’t form words to clarity, and LeBron’s fingers are working into him. He can feel the pressure like a wave in his blood like heat rising along his spine, threatening to overhaul his awareness with anticipation.

 

He’s been distracted for hours since the game started, has been nursing the edge of arousal since the first minutes of hitting the court. Part of him wonders if it contributed to their loss, but LeBron’s touch is pushing the warmth to his body until Steph’s cock pushes harder against the resistance of the bed. There’s a twist of the other’s wrist, a burst of pressure against sensitive nerve endings. He jerks against the bed as the rush of heat hits him, makes Steph’s dick leak pre-cum on the sheets, can feel it roll down his shaft.

 

“You’re so easy,” LeBron huffs and shifts his fingers to push in deeper still to press deliberate force inside Steph’s body. Steph hurts his throat straining on a moan he doesn’t even try to restrain. It would be audible beyond the closed doors; he’s sure, except for the barrier of LeBron’s shirt in his mouth to stifle the noise. LeBron rocks his weight forward to Steph closer to the bed as he works his fingers inside the other.

 

Steph’s cock is aching, heartbeat pounding in his throat and tensing hard against his thighs, and he wants to reach down for himself but LeBron’s grip is pinning him too close to the floor. He gasps for breath instead, hissing air around the barrier in his mouth and rocking forward against the floor in tiny, desperate movements. But LeBron pushes down harder to stop Steph from breaking free of LeBron’s hold or the drag of his touch inside him.

 

LeBron groans softly. “God, imagine if your team walked in right now. I bet they’d be disgusted,” He mutters, and draws his hand back and thrusts in hard until Steph’s vision bursts to white, his entire body convulsing into a helpless heat as he comes untouched on the sheets under him.

 

The other’s fingers are still working inside him, pressing hard to draw the reflexive waves of heat out into his veins, and Steph tries slightly to break free, gasping and shaking against the support of the bed as each tremor of heat runs through him to spill another pulse of liquid from his cock.

 

It’s too much, overwhelming even before the waves of pleasure have ease. He’s by the time his orgasm fades, shaking under the continuing force of LeBron’s touch well before he stills the movement of his fingers inside him.

 

“Good bitch,” LeBron says as if he’s praising the other for coming apart under his touch as if Steph had input into the process that brought him shuddering into orgasm. LeBron tightens his fingers at his hip, his touch draws back, and Steph quivers at the drag inside him, whimpers that feels a protest and comes out like a moan in the back of his throat.

 

“I’ll give you more than my fingers soon, maybe that’ll shut you up. Keep you nice and’ full till’ you can’t think.” Steph can feel his heart stutter in his chest, can feel his whole body clench suddenly tight on the premonition of what LeBron’s words suggest. Yet, the other is rocking back over his heels again, leaning away from Steph’s bare skin as he reaches for his pants still around his hips.

 

The hand at Steph’s hip eases and draws away, and he’s able to wiggle free if he wanted, to slide himself forward and away from the burden of LeBron’s weight. But the thought of attempting freedom doesn’t even cross his mind, doesn’t even linger. Even the exhaustion along his spine that says “I can’t,” that says “you said you were done,” is defeated by curiosity, too tense on anticipation to move him away.

 

The most he can manage is to turn his head so he can see the way LeBron is looking at him as he gets his pants off, pushes them down his hips. All of Steph’s attention slides away from the other’s face and down to the flushed heat of his cock instead.

 

Steph’s eyelashes flutter, throat tenses with a sudden exhale, but LeBron only glances up at the whine from Steph’s throat, only spares him a passing glance before looking back down to turn his attention to his knees. He braces a hand on Steph’s thigh, pushes against the inside line of it, and Steph doesn’t need to think before obeying the unspoken request and letting his legs spread wide against the support of the bed under him.

 

The spill of come from his orgasm is sticking to his softening cock but the tremor of the sensation is still thrumming along the flat of his stomach. Steph only barely notices it because LeBron leans over him and reaches out to brace a hand over the line of his shoulder and tip himself in so he casts Steph in the shadow of his body.

 

“You gave in so easily,” LeBron purrs behind him, and Steph sucks in a sudden lungful of air as if he’s about to plunge under the surface of the ocean. The idea of LeBron touching him right after makes him whimper from overstimulation, draws half-voiced protest from his chest before he can stop himself. But LeBron presses closer anyway, his hips weighting at Steph’s to pin him against the bed, and Steph reaches out to grab the other’s bracing arm to hold still just as the other draws back to line himself up.

 

Steph’s heart is racing, his whole body shaking with unspoken tension. “Guess you must really love taking my dick, huh?” Yet, he still manages to make an annoyed noise, shaking his head at LeBron, who chuckles at Steph and rocks forward as Steph’s fingers tighten on his arm. Steph’s body feels strained and tense, letting out muffled groan as the breadth of LeBron’s swollen cock slides into him.

 

“You know,” LeBron breathes, voice dropping low and warm on satisfaction. “At least your ass is honest about being cock-hungry.”

 

No, it’ not true, Steph wants to say but doesn’t know how with his mouth full, doesn’t know if his pride is enough to override the rush of fear from spitting on LeBron’s shirt. Doesn’t know if he can lie about the pleasure that comes from having LeBron’s cock filling him and stretching him wide as the other thrusts deeper into him.

 

The movement is easy. Steph can feel his spine arching again as LeBron draws back to thrust into him again as the slick of the other’s movement draws friction over the pleasure-sensitive skin. LeBron’s weight over him is no help either. With this angle, LeBron is taking each drive of his hips as much down as forward, every press of his body weighting Steph’s cock against the friction of the sheets.

 

It’s too soon, Steph’s sure it is, the spill of liquid from his first orgasm is still warm against his skin, But his cock is starting to swell in obedience to the friction in spite of the ache of too-recent orgasm rippling all the way up Steph’s spine. He whimpers, shifting his weight in a futile attempt to ease the strain on his body, and LeBron groans over him and sparks an instinctive alarm in the back of Steph’s thoughts even before the other speaks.

 

“You're so good at taking it. Squeezin’ ‘round my dick so tight and hot like a fucking whore,” LeBron even pauses for a moment, drawing back by an inch to leave Steph aching with the afterimage of his forward thrust. HIs hand brushes against Steph’s hip, fingers tightening to draw back and tilt him into a slightly different angle.

 

 LeBron hisses at the increased pressure around his cock, shifts his knees to take a little more of his balance over his legs. “You look perfect like this. So fuckin’ perfect with your hole full of my cock.” Steph has a flicker of annoyance forming itself in the back of his mind at LeBron’s words, and then the other thrusts forward in a smooth slide into him. His spine arches with a jolt of intensity as the head of LeBron’s cock drives hard inside him to spark heat into his veins.

 

Steph’s is pulled out of him, too loud even with the weight of LeBron’s shirt in his mouth. LeBron starts driving in deeply, the thrust of his hips falling into a steady rhythm over the other.  He’s not moving very fast but Steph still can’t catch his breath from the burst of sensation from each of LeBron’s movements. Steph’s fully hard again, can feel every thud of his racing heartache against the heat of his cock as much as in the pulse at his throat.

 

Over him, LeBron is breathing deep, slow breathing like he’s pacing himself during a game, and Steph can see the shape of what the other has planned or would be able to if he weren’t so tremblingly undone under the force of LeBron fucking into him. He’s slipping, melting, and LeBron’s still moving, the weight his hold at Steph’s hip is still bracing him motionless so he can’t shift away from the bursts of sensation even if he wanted to.

 

“Stop trying’ to pull away, slut,” LeBron growls loudly, fingers tightening even more on his hips until Steph’s sure it will leave marks. “I bet you been gagging for it since you I beat your ass on the court, weren’t you? I bet you can come again without me even touching your dick.” Steph can’t answer. There’s pressure in his chest, heat pooling low in his stomach, and when LeBron rocks forward into him, Steph wails into the fabric as his cock pulses into surging heat.

 

There’s barely any liquid. He hasn’t had enough time to catch his breath, much less spill another spurt of come. But that doesn’t stop his body from tensing, doesn’t stop the friction of LeBron inside him from radiating out to tremble helplessly through his body.

 

“You’re fucking filthy.” LeBron doesn’t stop. He barely pauses in his movement, barely slows the rhythm of his thrusts as he rides out the tremor of Steph’s second orgasm. Steph is still shaking when LeBron lets his hip go to brace himself over the other with both hands.

 

He shifts one knee wide, moving to press at the outside of Steph’s leg instead of the inside, and when he slides Steph moves without resistance, lets the force of LeBron’s motion push his leg back in from the open sprawl he’s been holding. LeBron shifts again, does the same on the other side until he’s pinning Steph’s legs close together between the press of his knees as he replaces his hold at the other’s hip.

 

Steph wants to plead for mercy, wants to beg for a moment to recover. But this is what he wanted all game, all these months: the force of LeBron pushing him down with all the focused, deliberate discipline he can offer. He thrusts deep into him again and Steph forgets any hope of coherency he might have had left as the pressure of the new angle flares through his entire body.

 

His vision is blurring to white and refusing to clear. He twitches with every thrust of LeBron’s hips, his body so overheated with sensation and pleasure that he can’t tell if he’s still cresting the aftershocks of his last orgasm or if it’s the start of another running dry through his exhausted body. It’s too much. He can’t breathe, can’t think, and he thinks he might pass out, can feel unconsciousness threatening at the corners of his heat-hazed vision.

 

Then LeBron huffs an exhale over him, the sound on his tongue turning to the start of a moan, and it’s LeBron who jerks this time, his cock pulsing heat into Steph’s body as he comes. Steph gasps for air against the bed, listens to the thud of his heartbeat stuttering fast in his ears, and LeBron pulls out of him as Ste[h jerks again, whimpering brokenly against the shirt still caught in his mouth.

 

“Steph,” LeBron says, his voice low and purring, impossible for Steph to read emotion from around the rush of his pulse in his ears. LeBron;s weight shifts as he rocks up over his knees, his hand lifts from the bed. Steph shivers at the drag of his touch against his hair, turns his head up to meet the friction of the other’s fingers as LeBron strokes the tangle of his hair back from his face. “You’ll answer my fucking texts next time.”

 

Steph tries to nod though he isn’t sure the motion is visible. LeBron tightens his fingers against Steph’s hair, bracing him in place as he reaches for the rolled-up shirt with his other hand. “Open.”

 

He opens his mouth obediently, feeling the strain along the line of his jaw ease and ache with the loss of tension, and LeBron draws the cloth out of his mouth, leaving Steph to gasp for air. When he shudders, it’s a full-body tremor of relief, surrendering to the ache of exhaustion lacing through all his limbs, and over him, LeBron hums something wordless and leans in close.

 

“Are we clear?” He asks, the words purring in the back of his throat and drawing Steph’s head to turn up in reflexive pursuit of a kiss. Steph has to try twice before he can find the air to manage speech. Even then, his voice comes out raw and unrecognizably rough on his lips. “Yes, LeBron.” He closes his mouth, swallows in an effort to find some moisture for his tongue. “I’m sorry.”

 

Even with the excuse of his ragged voice to hide behind, it sounds forced. But LeBron doesn’t notice, or more likely, doesn’t care because he just huffs the outline of a laugh and leans in to give Steph the kiss he wants.

 

Steph tries to ignore his pride. He can feel his whole face go hot, can feel his cheeks flush with the sunburn ache of embarrassment under his skin. But there’s pressure inside his chest, the threat of laughter tickling the back of his throat, knowing LeBron would most likely never kiss him again if he knew his true feelings.

 

 When LeBron pulls away from the kiss, he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know what comes to next. He hears a shift of fabric, and suddenly, the weight of the bed is lighter than before. Trying to retain some sort of dignity, he finally opens his eyes and grabs the sheet on the bed, flipping over to his side with an arm under his head. He must look ridiculous, but it’s better than lying completely naked, open and guilty. LeBron pays him no attention and grabs his shorts and shirt off the floor before shuffling into the hotel bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click.

 

Steph has a few moments to consider what to do or say next, closing his eyes and trying to calm his quickly beating heart until LeBron walks back out of the bathroom. He walks back around the bed to stare down at Steph with his arms crossed of his chest, almost like a disappointed parent.

 

“Um,” is what Steph says and sits up on one of his elbows, looking up at him with red lips and big eyes, the perfect description of someone who’s been “messed up.” Steph likes it. It makes him feel owned, makes him feel possessed until he’s shaking with it. “Can’t even fuckin’ talk,” LeBron says suddenly. There’s the tremor of a laugh in the back of his throat, amusement warm and slurring over his vocal chords like syrup.

 

Leaning forward until he can touch Steph’s head, his fingers brush the top gently, a glancing touch still enough to let Steph feel how slick his skin is, and he quivers wordless and stunned. “I fucking own you,” LeBron says over him, his touch drawing away again and leaving chill promise in its wake. “So, you best watch your step.”

 

Steph nods, quick to agree to the promised comfort of warm water and LeBron’s hands on him. It’s unsuspected when it happens, but the other quickly presses his knee onto the head of the bed near Steph’s upper body and slides his hand down to his shoulder, catching his lips in a kiss that leaves Steph whimpering and leaning in for more when LeBron draws back off the bed. He gets a smile when he opens his eyes, and LeBron walks away from the bed one last time but not before grabbing Steph’s discarded phone on the nightstand, tossing it easily like a pass on the court to the bed directly near Steph’s hands.

 

When Steph pries his hand out from under the sheets to touch his phone and swipe it on, he looks down to catch a glimpse of the time in the amount of time LeBron takes to excuse himself from his room. There’s a click of his door shutting, and Steph bites his lip and shuts his eyes. He can feel the burn of tears behind them, the threat of emotion too strong to easily fight back. In the midst of his emotions, there’s a ping from his phone, which causes him to open his eyes and glance down at the phone, vision blurry slightly.

 

james **:** see you next month. best bring it

 

Steph’s lips curve up in instinctive response, the warmth of affection rising up. 

 

Steph:[always](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fN-eORZyLKI)

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Warriors finals win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was sitting on this and needed to at least post it. idk if I will finish it. lots of shit has happened. my health isn't any better, and it sucks. i love all the comments and appreciate all of you. i am sorry. also, the Cavs suck so much right now. this sucks too.

Steph didn’t anticipate that was quite the way the game was going to go.

 

It’s not that he didn’t know what the plan was – didn’t know how hard they worked to win, how good Durant was on the court, how well they all played together.  And it wasn’t like he didn’t know LeBron would come after him later, especially after beating them so effortlessly on Christmas. Part of him hoped for it – the pathetic part of him that panted after the superstar even after months of silence and unreturned texts (even after LeBron practically ordered him to text him).

 

But LeBron isn’t the most restrained person, even at the best of times. After the game ended, Steph stopped the celebrating and ignored his team briefly amidst the cheers to check his phone. (After all, it wasn’t the finals yet.) And the “hotel 9, tomorrow @ 9 pm” sent to him by LeBron was stunningly straightforward even for him.

 

Steph’s been alternately smiling and pouting about it all day when he thinks about it. The idea of LeBron wanting Steph to meet for assumingly overnight is thrilling in itself, just for the privacy and expanse of time it offers. But what he wants and expects are two different things.  

 

Honestly, it’ll be nice to rub the win in his face, Steph thinks, to have something to hang over LeBron’s head for one. Especially after the last few times, they have met. Honestly, what he knows he should do is go over, gloat, and get the hell out while he can. It’s the plan anyway, but the indulgence of it seems almost impossible, certainly more than Steph can stand to think about for very long at all if he’s honest with himself.

 

So by the time he arrives at the hotel – in sunglasses, a baseball cap, and casual clothes– he’s thought about almost everything he can think of besides what is waiting for him upstairs. He’s standing in the lobby near the bathroom while trying to remain as discreet as possible and sends out a text to LeBron letting him know he’s here. It was hard enough to get away from his teammates, let alone his family and management. He told Klay he’s meeting someone, and of course, Klay was excited for him, knows of his past sulking lately, and most likely told the rest of them to fuck off because he managed to sneak out pretty easily.

 

And when the text from LeBron comes (Room 609), he quickly heads over to the elevator and holds the “shut door” button until it shuts on a few people coming closer. With a smile, he listens to the elevator ping all the way to the top floor and takes off his sunglasses once he realizes, of course, LeBron is staying the penthouse suite. Sliding the glasses into his front pocket, he swallows nervously and watches the elevator's door open to reveal a short hallway with only one door.

 

LeBron opens the door as soon as Steph knocks. That’s a surprise. First of all, Steph’s not late, is certain he’s even a few minutes early, but LeBron opens the door as fast as if he was waiting on the other side and with such an intense expression on his face that Steph’s nervous smile fades into panic immediately. This was a bad idea.

 

“Hey, man,” Steph starts, his voice skidding embarrassingly high on the sudden rush of concern that hits his veins. “How was the loss?” and that’s as far as he gets before LeBron is reaching out, his arm snapping forward as fast as if they are in the middle of a game.

 

His palm hits Steph’s chest with enough force to knock the air out of him, and Steph still gasping with shock from that when LeBron fingers drag and tighten into a fist on his shirt. There’s a pull, a sharp surge of motion, and Steph stumbles forward, nearly tripping over the edge of the entrance as he comes past the front door and into the entryway of the hotel room.

 

“LeBron--” he starts, his voice reaching new heights of concern, but “Curry,” LeBron is saying, rumbling the sound low enough that Steph can feel the vibration of it purring over all his skin like a physical touch. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“What?” Steph tries but not before he pauses a minute to make sure he didn’t just imagine that text. LeBron is still staring at him like it’s something wholly unexpected, and Steph almost digs his phone out to show him. “You asked me to come over. Do you not remember? What the hell?”

 

There’s a brief flash of realization over LeBron’s face before his gaze hardens once again. “Yes,” LeBron agrees and reaches out without looking to shove the door shut. “I did. But I didn’t think your dumbass would come.” He admits and pushes Steph’s shoulders up against the door, very shortly followed by LeBron’s landing against Steph’s mouth.

 

His eyes go wide before he can think to close them, throat tightening on a startled whine of sound, but LeBron is fucking kissing him and that’s enough distraction to override his initial shock at the force of it. His eyes shut, his shoulders sag, and even the sound of his hat sliding off his head to fall to the floor isn’t enough to pull his attention away from the warm slide of LeBron’s mouth on his. Now, this was not what he imagines.

 

LeBron’s hand closes on his hip, fingers pushing up to fit under the edge of Steph’s shirt as they tighten into a bracing hold, and Steph shudders against the support of the door. But LeBron pulls away but it’s not far enough; Steph’s still too close to see anything but the dark of LeBron’s eyes, the shadows that spread to eclipse the focus in his gaze as he stares at Steph’s mouth like he’s hungry.

 

“Did you enjoy that win?” LeBron asks, his voice so rough on the words he sounds angry but his fingers are sliding gently over Steph’s skin, his index finger tracing against the line of his hip. Steph swallows and tips his chin in a rushed nod. “Yeah.” He manages and daringly reaches up with the arm freed to curl his fingers around the back of LeBron’s neck.

 

LeBron hums under his touch, his lashes falling heavy against his cheeks as his eyes shut, and Steph can feel the power of the contact whip through him like fire, urging his heartbeat to speed out of control as he arches up closer for more. LeBron the one who initiates the kiss, this time, his mouth that claims a kiss-off Steph’s lips, and even when Steph rocks in closer LeBron’s doing as much of the pulling as Steph is pushing.

 

Steph can feel the flex of LeBron’s movements under the cover of his shirt, can feel the shift of his shoulders and the tremor along his stomach as he presses flush against LeBron chest. They’re so near Steph is sure LeBron will be able to feel the pounding of his heart like his adrenaline will telegraph itself directly through the insufficient barrier of their shirts.

 

“It won’t be the last,” He manages, fitting the words into the gap between kisses, while LeBron is momentarily distracted from his mouth by his attention to the movement of his hands instead. His fingers are tracing up LeBron’s chest, urging his shirt deliberately higher instead of accidentally. Steph’s skin prickles into heat, his hips tip themselves forward off the support of the door of their own accord. “Ah.”

 

“We’ll see, bitch,” LeBron rumbles, that one utterance enough as a reason and explanation all on its own. His hand is heavy against Steph’s chest, the press of it enough to pin him to the door. He feels like he can’t breathe beyond pushing against the weight of it, to arch against LeBron’s palms. LeBron ducks his head, seeking another unexpected kiss, and Steph turns his head up to it.

 

LeBron is surprisingly gentle with his mouth, careful with the friction he gives and the slide of his tongue when he licks Steph’s lower lip. It makes him shiver, to be so delicately treated and held so utterly immobile and then LeBron rocks his hips forward to grind against him, and Steph groans too-loud into his mouth.

 

It’s enough to make him flush red just hearing the sound he makes, but LeBron rumbles something incoherent and laughs as he presses against him again, which only causes Steph to go far hotter than embarrassment could account for

 

LeBron is unmistakably hard against his leg, so hard Steph can feel the shape of him right through the shorts he’s wearing, and Steph might be wearing more but that just gives him the advantage of friction to press himself against. He arches forward off the door, angling himself against the resistance of LeBron’s leg, and LeBron sighs with appreciation and lets his hand fall from Steph’s chest to his hip instead.

 

“Up,” He orders, the command so simple Steph can’t even make sense of it for a moment, but LeBron’s hand is sliding down his jeans and along his leg instead, and when LeBron tugs against Steph’s thigh, he moves obediently to lift his leg as indicated. There’s a moment of gravity shifting, Steph’s balance careening sideways and off from over his feet, and he grabs at LeBron’s shoulder and clings to the support of the other’s arm.

 

LeBron lifts him off the floor by his knee, rocking forward to pin Steph to the door as he urges his leg up and around LeBron’s hip. Steph leans at the door, holds himself at LeBron’s shoulder, and from there it’s an easy motion to slide his other leg free from between his thighs and up to hook around the other’s hips.

 

But his balance is back, legs straining less than a normal people would be, and LeBron groans and presses hard against him, fitting the heat of his cock against the inside angle of Steph’s legs as smoothly as if neither of them are wearing anything at all. Steph shudders at the friction, his back arching to push him closer, and LeBron’s hands steady on his hips to hold him still against the upward thrust he takes with his hips.

 

There’s a drag of friction, heat spiraling out into Steph’ blood, and he hears himself make a strange exhausted sound before he realizes he’s reacting at all, the sound coming from his chest like it’s being pushed from him on the grind of LeBron’s hips against him. The motion is suggestive, deliberate; it’s the single-minded focus Steph is so used to seeing in LeBron when they’re alone as if he’s completely forgotten about the events that transpired the night before.

 

“LeBron,” Steph says, and LeBron groans against his shoulder, a sound of appreciation and annoyance. He moves again, grinding hard against Steph, and Steph’s head goes back, eyes going wide on the rush of distracting heat. “Ah, LeBron, wait, I should--”

 

“You should shut the fuck up is what you should do,” LeBron says, cutting Steph off with the low rumble of words against his collar. He’s pressed so close Steph can feel the shape of him through his shorts, imagines he can feel the damp at the head of his cock catching against his own jeans.

 

Steph takes a breath. They should move, probably, even LeBron shouldn’t waste this much energy between matches. The bed will be more comfortable, he’s sure, and it will hardly take any time at all to stumble down the hallway toward the bed. Then he lets the air out and thinks about LeBron pushing him against the wall, about being pinned between the solid resistance of the door and the immovable weight of his strong shoulders.

 

“I will, just,” Steph mutters before adding, “Let me get my jeans off, man.” And LeBron is already moving as if he expected it, drawing back from the door enough for Steph to untangle himself and get his feet back under him. His knees are shaky when he trusts his weight to them. It’s more from relief than he wants to admit and LeBron’s hands rest on his hips, the force enough that Steph is sure he’d stay upright even if his legs truly did fail him.

 

He lets go of LeBron’s neck, freeing his hands so he can reach down and fumble with the fly of his jeans, but LeBron doesn’t let him go. He presses in closer instead, ducking his head until he’s resting his nose near the top of Steph’s head, and Steph can swear he hears LeBron sniffing him as he makes a wall with his body to hem him in. It should be alarming, would be during a game or another public appearance. But under the current circumstances, it’s just embarrassingly arousing, so much so that Steph’s hands are shaking as he pulls his zipper down enough to loosen his jeans around his hips.

 

“Hold on,” Steph manages, and LeBron’s hands shift, palms sliding up enough for his thumbs to fit under the top edge of his jeans. Steph grabs at his shoulders again, bites back a groan as LeBron pushes his pants down his hips. He catches a breath, delayed-reaction embarrassment catching him up as LeBron gets eye-level with his hips and the flushed color of his cock, but the older man doesn’t even pause.

 

LeBron pushes Steph’s jeans past his ankles, letting the fabric puddle around his feet until it’s simple enough to step free of them. Steph moves without being told and glances away to avoid eye contact, and LeBron catches his leg as he steps free, pushing against the inside of his knee to brace his leg wide as he stands up in a single fluid movement.

 

Steph’s foot skids on the floor, his balance vanishing again, but he’s essentially ready for it this time. He doesn’t startle this time, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins is enough to chill the bite of panic. His shoulders shove against the door, and LeBron runs his fingers down his leg and then they’re falling back in line with each other. LeBron steps forward to press against Steph’s bare thighs as he catches his weight.

 

“Hmm,” LeBron hums, approval layering rich in his throat, and when he rocks himself forward, Steph can feel LeBron’s cock catch against his, can feel the drag of heat against his bare skin as he moves. Steph tenses up a bit and closes his eyes, and LeBron sighs something that sounds like satisfaction and reaches around to brace a hand under Steph’ thigh.

 

His hand slides high takes what weight Steph isn’t supporting on his own and he braces them there, pinning Steph back to the door and holding him up one-handed while he reaches for the pocket of his shorts.  Steph isn’t surprised by LeBron’s strength but loses focus with each of LeBron’s rocking motions but then he reaches between them, pressing the weight of a closed fist against Steph’s chest.

 

“Hey,” He whispers, and Steph blinks into enough focus to see the bottle in LeBron’s hand, the plastic slick with past use and the lid still closed. He tries not to think about why it’s half used and nods his head. He untangles his arms from around LeBron’s neck in one precarious motion.

 

LeBron leans closer, presses his mouth to the line of Steph’s shoulder, and Steph tips his head to the side without thinking, his eyelashes fluttering shut as he twists the lid off the bottle by feel instead of by sight.

 

He’s ready to spill the lube over his own fingers, palm ready to catch the liquid, but LeBron’s hold closes on his wrist to draw his hand away. Then it only takes a second. LeBron draws away, pressing his fingers against each other. Steph rushes to cap the bottle again before he loses track of what he’s doing and barely gets the lid back on before LeBron’s fingers are sliding between his thighs. When the slick touch bumps against his entrance, Steph jerks against the door and the bottle slides from his hands. He reaches out, clutching at LeBron shoulder as a familiar touch presses slick liquid against his skin.

 

“Get ready,” LeBron breathes, his voice rumbling in an odd low range, and Steph knows what’s coming, easing himself into it even before LeBron steadies his touch and lines his fingers up. He’s quick about it; one slick thrust and he’s knuckle-deep, the friction of his finger sliding into Steph enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Steph tenses against the friction, his reaction too reflexive to restrain, but he’s groaning too, the heat of anticipation flares the blood in his veins as LeBron’s touch slides into him.

 

LeBron makes a sound near his shoulder, too low to make out words or expression, and when he pushes in deeper, Steph can feel the ache low in his stomach. He’s arching against the door, clinging to LeBron’s neck, and LeBron pushes closer, pinning Steph back against the door as he draws his hand back to slide in again in a long thrust of movement.

 

Steph shifts his legs to rock his hips forward against LeBron’s, to shift the touch inside him and to feel how hard LeBron is on the inside of his shorts.  He hears LeBron groan loudly as Steph lets himself lean against the wall, keeps himself angled as close to LeBron as he can get. “Please.” He


	3. Update/Musing/Not a Chapter/Will Delete Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A question for all of you plus an update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is not a chapter.

First off, I totally understand if you don't wanna read this, so I won't be offended if to click out.

**Update**

Sorry for the complete hiatus and abandonment. I have a chronic illness, and for the past three years, I have been battling it. Nothing has really worked, so it's very depressing. Every day is a struggle, but I also have full-time job and have been looking for a new job for a while with nothing panning out.

In the end, all this has really killed my enthusiasm for this fic. But I do have some potentially good news.

**New Ideas?**

After watching this web series recently, I have been struck with tons of inspiration to write these two in an alternate universe. Possibly aged down in high school. Let me know what you think. I don't think I will lose too much of their personality doing this, but I could see people not caring about the story. Also, it might involve fewer sex scenes and more "emotional bullshit" as I call it.

Also, I may relax my writing style but not my much because I am a perfectionist. 

**Thank You**

Also, I am considering changing my username to retain my anonymity online. If you subscribe to me, my username will most likely change.

Thank you for all the comments and replies. Thank you for simply being there. You didn’t try to fix me, but just let me feel supported and cared for. My cup overflows.

**I plan on changing my username soon. If you subscribe to me and see a random username pop up in your inbox or writing this pairing in my style, it is me.**

**Author's Note:**

> The Cavs are still shitty.


End file.
